


I Didn't Mean to Summon a Demon

by MerryWanderer



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Demons, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Historical, Alternate Universe - Magic, Artist Grantaire, Demon Summoning, Enemies to Lovers, Enjolras Has Feelings, Enjolras Was A Charming Young Man Who Was Capable Of Being Terrible, Enjolras is a demon, Grantaire is a Witch, M/M, Magic, Witchcraft, reluctant allies to lovers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-24
Updated: 2021-02-24
Packaged: 2021-03-15 04:08:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,915
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29678217
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MerryWanderer/pseuds/MerryWanderer
Summary: Witches are being murdered, and no one is sure why. Grantaire finds a summoning spell by the body of one of the dead witches, and uses it to try and find out who is killing the witches. The problem? He didn't summon the low-level demon he was expecting. No, he summoned a prince of hell. Enjolras, a golden-haired demon that Grantaire can't decide whether or not he hates.Enjolras does his best not to care about this mess of a witch that has summoned him. After all, demons aren't supposed to care about mortals, much less about witches.
Relationships: Enjolras/Grantaire (Les Misérables)
Kudos: 15





	1. Chapter 1

France, back then, was not very welcoming of witches and witchcraft and magic. Sure, some superstitions were accepted, but any real witchcraft was greeted with being burned at the stake or being chased from town.

This, of course, was why Grantaire Beaumont and the rest of his family was very, very careful never to let anyone see them at their practice, were careful to keep all their witchcraft hidden away where no one would notice. Any rituals, any spells they worked, all done in secret so that they would not be harmed.

Grantaire did not live with his family anymore, but he would still return to consult his grandmother sometimes, when he needed her advice on a spell or ritual. It was rare for men to inherit the ability to be a witch; his father didn't have the ability like he did, though that was perhaps for the best. Too many witches, and it would be too hard to hide what they were from everyone.

Today he was returning to his childhood home to consult with his grandmother about a paper he had found near the body of a slaughtered witch. It had frightened him. They lived near enough to Paris that their town had a large population, but the killing of a witch was always frightening. Witch hunters were a dangerous thing, and Grantaire had no wish to draw the attention of one. So, he was going to consult with his grandmother about the spell on the paper, to see what exactly the spell would do. He believed it had something to do with demon summoning, but he couldn't tell for certain. His family had never dabbled with the kind of dark magic that was required for demon summoning.

After all, Grantaire had been raised on horrific stories about what Demons did to people, about what demons would do to a witch that summoned it. Grantaire had no wish to delve into demon work, not in the least.

He came inside and found his grandmother by the fire, a bundle of rosemary hanging over the mantle to dry, and he knew she would use it to burn for cleansing later.

"Grandmere." he said, sitting down on the floor at her feet. "I found this at the body of Claire LaRue." he held up the paper.

The old woman carefully took the paper from him, a frown tugging at her lips. "Grantaire, this is demon-work. The LaRue's were not into such dark magic as this."

"I know, but I found it and I wasn't sure where else to bring it to."

"Hmm." she traced the edge of the paper with her finger, and he knew she was going to try and find out what grimoire it had come from. "Wherever she got this spell, it was a very old grimoire. Older than ours, even, and older than the LaRue's by far."

"Do you think it was a demon's grimoire? After all, it _is_ a summoning spell." Grantaire asked, cocking his head faintly and glancing towards the kitchen, where he could hear his father moving around.

"No. I do not believe it to be from a demon's grimoire. Those are exceedingly rare, and you know it. There were three only." the demons' grimoires were three legendary grimoires, created by the three original witch families, whose names were lost to time. These three original witch families had been born of an unnatural union of human and demon, and therefore, their grimoires were known as the demons' grimoires.

"I know. It was only a suggestion. It is old, though?"

"Yes, very, and it is not from a family that I am familiar with." Grimoires were not shared from family to family, but if the page had been from a grimoire that was owned by someone they knew, his grandmother would have sensed the energies and known. The fact that she didn't was strange, especially when the page had been found beside Claire LaRue.

"Odd." Grantaire stood, walking to the hearth and stoking the fire. The scent of burning herbs wafted up to him. "Are you working on a new protection spell?'

"Yes, I thought it was high time the wards for the house were updated." his grandmother said, setting aside the paper. "Especially with Claire dead, as you've told me. Any news of hunters?"

"No, none. I've been asking."

"Discreetly, I hope?"

"Of course." he ducked into the kitchen, coming back with a bottle of ale. He pulled the cork out and took a sip straight from the bottle, sitting down into one of the nearby chairs with a sigh. "So if that page isn't from the LaRue's grimoire, then where is it from?"

"I don't know. Don't let anyone else see it, it is dangerous, cheri."

"You mean you want me to keep it with me?"

"Oui. You are a powerful witch, Grantaire. I trust you can keep it safe."

"Oh. Of course, Grandmere. Thank you." he reached out, taking the page and putting it in his pocket, taking another sip of the ale. "Is there any way I can assist with your warding of the house?"

"No. Although I am running low on rosemary and bay leaves. If you could bring some by next time you come, that would be appreciated. And of course candles." his grandmother told him.

"Of course. I have some extra bay leaves that I can bring you tomorrow, and next time I gather rosemary, I'll gather some extra for you." he said.

His grandmother nodded, and for a while they sat in quiet, contented silence as the fire snapped and crackled and sent the scent of burning herbs curling through the room. Grantaire closed his eyes. It was good to come home and smell the familiar smells of his childhood. He had grown up helping with different rituals and spells, and while his were sometimes different than his grandmother's and mother's, it was still lovely to be home in their magic again. After a while, he stood. "I'd best be getting home. It's a full moon tomorrow, and I've got to prepare for it."

"Of course. Peace be in your path, and may the moon protect you."

"May the moon light your path, and the stars keep you safe, until we meet again." Grantaire gave the familiar response to their traditional farewell, and headed out the door with his bottle of ale in his hand.

-.-.-.-

When he reached home, he set the paper down on a table, smoothing it out and frowning a little. The ingredients it called for for the ritual were the kinds of things he did not like to mess with. Bones and blood and the sort of dark magic most witches tried to stay away from. He took another sip from the bottle, shaking his head as he checked that all his wards were still active. Satisfied that they were, he set out some of his crystals on windowsills to charge in the light of the moon, and then went to bed, leaving the paper and its strange summoning spell to be considered by the light of day. 


	2. Chapter 2

When morning came, he got up and put away the crystals that had charged overnight. The wards were fine, which was good, but he would have to renew them soon; they were growing old. He made himself breakfast, burning a candle for good luck while he ate, and imbued his morning coffee with good intent, asking the coffee to bring him content and intelligence for the day. When he finished eating, he put out the candle, snuffing it instead of blowing it out. Blowing out a candle was, for one thing, disrespectful to the element of fire and, for another, if you blew out a candle you blew out its magic, and then it could backfire. He did not want the spell to backfire.

He moved over to where he had left the strange summoning ritual the night before, and started to read it over again. Perhaps, if he used the summoning ritual, he could find out if a demon had killed Claire. It had certainly seemed like something demonic. His stomach turned as he remembered how her body had looked, lying in an alleyway like trash. Her dress had been torn open, and in her chest was a gaping, bloody hole where her heart had once been. Her eyes had been staring, wide and empty, at the sky, and her mouth had been parted as if to scream. Her final moments had not been peaceful, and whoever or whatever had killed her deserved to suffer for it.

If he was careful with his summoning, would it really be that bad?

He shook his head faintly. Of course it would be that bad. He knew the stories.

-.-.-.-

_Grantaire had been raised on tales of demons and what they would do. One of them was the tale of the six princes of hell, second only to Lucifer himself. Lucifer was also known as Satan, in the tales of Christianity, but he was not the same as Satan._

_The princes of hell were devious and cruel, and cared nothing for anyone but themselves. They were handsome and they were charming, but they were terrible. His grandmother had always told him that you could tell a prince of hell by his eyes. How, exactly, she had never said, but she had told him that if you looked a prince of hell in the eyes, you would know. It wasn't something you wouldn't realize until too late._

_The princes of hell could use their abilities to trap unwary witches into deals, to steal souls. The worst part is they would trick witches into thinking they cared, when the only thing that the princes of hell cared about was themselves and their own power. They would suck the power from a witch, turn the witch into a mindless, brainless husk._

_One kiss from a prince of hell could turn even the most stalwart witch into putty, desperate for just one more kiss, just one more bit of attention from the prince of hell._

-.-.-.-

Grantaire shook off the memories of the stories. No, he would not be using this ritual to summon anything. Sure, no one had ever summoned a prince of hell in years, but he didn't want to summon even a lower level demon. Princes of hell were hard to summon, true, but even lower level demons were so very, very dangerous. As he thought, he absently rubbed his thumb over the ring on his right hand. His grandmother had given it to him when he was much younger, and had told him not to take it off, that it would help protect him. He didn't take it off except for once a year, when she would recharge it for a night and then return it.

He sighed faintly, putting the paper aside and preparing to head off to work. He worked with his family at their restaurant. He sketched portraits of customers, and, if they wished, they could then come back and he would turn the sketch into a painting. This was far more expensive, but it made them a nice extra bit of money, in addition to what people already spent on the food.

-.-.-.-

"Grantaire." his grandmother's voice stopped him at about one o'clock, and he turned to her, sketchpad and pencil in hand.

"Yes?"

"Come here." he bid the couple he had been sketching goodbye, giving them the finished portrait, and then followed his grandmother from the restaurant into their home, which was connected to the house.

"What is it, grandmere?"

"Clarie LaRue was not killed by anything human." his grandmother said. He examined her, and could see the stress in her eyes.

"So...what does that mean?"

"Someone summoned something. A demon. And whether it killed her by accident or if she was a target...I do not know." his grandmother said.

He nodded faintly, thinking of the paper he had left at home, safely tucked away in a box. "I see. What does this mean for us?"

"We should still be as careful as possible. If the humans figure out that this was not natural, their first place to assign blame shall be the witches. We must be cautious."

"I understand, grandmere." he said softly. "I shall make sure my wards are reinforced tonight, and you should do the same."

She gave him a dry look. "I am well-aware of what must needs be done, Grantaire. You take care of yourself and your home." she said, shaking her head at him.

He smiled a little. "Alright. I will. Now may I get back out to the customers?"

She waved him off, and he resumed his job, keeping the murders in the back of his mind.

-.-.-.-

In the next month, three more witches were murdered, their bodies found mutilated and desecrated, just as Claire LaRue's had been. Grantaire's younger sister Marisa had been one of them, and his family was splintering in grief. Grantaire was drinking more than he had ever done in the past, and he was desperate for a solution.

The summoning spell had languished in a drawer, forgotten until Marisa's death. Now he dug it out and decided he didn't care about the consequences. He was going to get answers for Marisa's death. He was going to get revenge for her death.

So he collected bones and blood, and headed out to a cave to complete the ritual during a full moon. He arrayed the animal bones into a closed circle, adding in crystals for protection, communication, and summoning, burning black candles around it as well, to help strengthen the summoning. Around his neck he had a cord that held a small bottle at the end. In the bottle was blood he had collected from a cow. The ritual had to be done at midnight. He would step into the circle, say the words, and spill the blood into the center. He had to stay in the circle until the demon appeared, but once it was there he could leave the circle. He just had to be careful not to break the circle, or he would set the demon free. Demons free in the world was never a good thing.

So he waited for midnight, checking his pocket watch. At 11:55, he stepped into the circle, and tripped over one of the bones. He landed sprawling in the middle of the circle, and there was a faint smashing sound. He winced, pushing himself up, and saw that the small bottle had broken and leaked the blood onto his shirt. Thankfully not into the circle, but he now had no blood left for the summoning.

He cursed, and threw the bottle out of the circle, unsure what to do.

Then he realized something. The ritual hadn't specified that it had to be animal blood. He could just use his own. He had a sewing needle tucked into a cloth in his pocket, he could use that to draw blood. And so, with the clock ticking down, he got out the sewing needle. As the hour hand hit 12, he jabbed his pointer finger and smeared blood on the center of the circle, while saying the summoning words in a clear, steady voice.

Then he waited for any sign that it had worked.

It was mere seconds before something began to happen, smoke blooming up from where he had smeared his blood on the rough stone floor. He stepped back as something began to take form. Between one blink and the next, someone formed from the smoke, the smoke slowly dying away, billowing away from the man's feet.

Grantaire stared as he took in this person that had formed in his circle. Tall, with curly blond hair more at home on a statue of Apollo than a demon summoned from the depths of hell. Fair skin without a blemish. He, it, whatever it was, had no shirt, leaving a well-toned body quite visible. Grantaire directed his attention back up, clearing his throat very faintly. His breath caught when he met eyes as blue as the core of a flame, and a realization thundered through him like a herd of stampeding cattle.

This was no low-level demon he could bid and command.

This was a prince of hell, and how Grantaire had summoned him, he didn't know.

A blond eyebrow twitched upwards. "And what do _you_ want from me?"

Grantaire blinked a few times, staring.

"I asked a question, witchling." the demon's voice sounded vaguely bored. "And, for another, how did you manage to summon me in the first place?"

Grantaire gritted his teeth. Maybe this demon had been the one to kill all the witches. After all, a prince of hell could never be trusted. A prince of hell, no doubt, could have murdered all those witches. The longer he looked at the demon, the more sure he was that this demon must have at least had a hand in the murders.

"Answer me, witchling, or I'll force the answers from you."

"You can't hurt me." Grantaire retorted, finally speaking. "The summoning spell makes sure of that. It...you can't hurt me." he glared at the demon, trying not to betray any fear.

The demon merely shrugged a shoulder. "If that's what you say, then it must be so." but there was a sardonic twist to his mouth, a gleam in his eyes that Grantaire didn't trust.


End file.
